Two young men who had been attached to an exploring party, out West, but had unwisely strayed away from their companions, were leisurely riding along the prairie, trying to track the footsteps of their friends, when they saw on the brow of a hill in their rear about a dozen Indian warriors, who were rapidly approaching them. There was not a moment to lose. The white men were unarmed, save for their hunting-knives, while the lances of the red men gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun. Putting spurs to their horses the two young men tried to escape by flight, but the derisive cries of the enemy showed that the distance was rapidly lessening between them. Nothing could have saved them had it not been that, just at the most critical moment, they reached a "windrow," a strip of ground upon which a storm had hurled down the trunks of trees in wild confusion. Hastily abandoning their horses to their fate, the two friends got in among the thick fallen timber, where they concealed themselves, and listened breathlessly while the Indians with shouts pursued, and attempted to capture the coveted animals. But they did not succeed. A cloud of dust heralded the approach of a party of men, who with shouts and cries galloped into the midst of them.

It was the exploring party, whose opportune appearance saved their companions' lives.